


Three/Trì/Tribhyah

by 3littleowls, DemonicSymphony



Series: Three/Trì/Tribhyah [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established James Bond/Q, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Control, Past 007/003, Past James Bond/Skanda, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Rimming, Snowballing, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing that two of his double-oh agents have a past is decidedly different than <i>seeing</i> it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three/Trì/Tribhyah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beaubete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/gifts).



> This started as a role-play with 3littleowls (littleowls3) on tumblr (more about that in the end notes!) Then I just had to write the smut after we faded to black.
> 
> Many thanks to the beta work of 3littleowls, beaubete, and jinglebell!
> 
> Trì - Scots Gaelic - Three  
> Tribhyah - Sanskrit - on account of three  
> -Symphony

A month after Q’s close call in Switzerland, Bond sits with him in the flat, holding him as they watch a programme on the SIS, both of them snorting at the appropriate moments. Q laughs. “That’s what they wanted those false documents for…” The bell for the flat rings and Q watches as Bond pads to the door, pistol in reach until he peers through the peephole. 

With a grin he opens the door to find 003 on the welcome mat.

“Well hello there, Skanda.”

Skanda gins and holds up a bottle of wine. “I thought I’d come give our Quartermaster a ‘welcome back to work’ gift.”

“He’s been back at work for two weeks. And you’re at my flat.” 

Q can practically hear Bond rolling his eyes as he invites Skanda in.

“Yeah, but he’s been in his office for most of it. I didn’t even get to give him my _intact_ kit when I came back a few days ago.” He winks at Q as he moves through the flat. “Q you’ve done wonders with making this place look like an actual home and not a show place.” 

He sits down on the chair near where Q is on the sofa. “How are you feeling?”

Bond shuts the door and follows, a small grin on his face. He scoops the wine out of Skanda’s hands and heads to the kitchen. 

“Well, if your idea of homey is an electronics shop,” Q turns the film off and moves a laptop and a game controller off the coffee table. “But I know what you mean. It’s a lot less sterile in here. More dog hair, too.”

“Honestly, anything is better than the ‘I don’t really live here, I just sleep on the sofa sometimes’ look James had going on before you got here. Where is Bosco?” Skanda relaxes against the chair as he looks around for the German Shepherd.

“Staying overnight at the veterinarian's office. He gets a bit woozy after having his teeth cleaned. But he’s fine,” Q answers. “It’s kind of you to check on me. Healing still, but I’m fine.” Q smiles, polite, but _god_ people have been cooing over him for _weeks_ now.

Bond calls out from the kitchen, “Do both of you want a glass?”

“Please,” Q replies. “There’s that cheese still, too?”

Bond snorts in the kitchen and the cork is heard a moment later. “Cheese, wine. I think we have strawberries and chocolate too.”

Skanda turns toward the kitchen. “Are you trying to recreate our honeymoon, dearest?”

With a smirk Bond leans out. “No, if that were the case I’d be making you do this. You did dote on me.” He sniffs, as though offended. “And what do I have to show for it now? Nothing but a scar on the back of my head from pulling you back on the bloody ship.”

Sliding his tongue over his lower lip, Skanda grins. “I could always lend you a hand.” He turns back and winks at Q.

Q watches their exchange, not knowing what to make of it. Double-ohs individually he can manage. Two, well, it’s like a charisma flash bomb went off in his flat. 

“Hmmm. I always thought we didn’t put double-ohs on cooperative missions because of resources,” Q muses. “Maybe it’s because you’re too busy- well. Distracted. With each other. Fooling- joking around I mean.” Q unfolds his long legs from under him, hiding a blush. “Do you need help James?”

Bond chuckles and peeks out. “Almost finished. It was an important mission. Close quarters. Cabin was bugged with sound and video when we got there. Would have looked suspicious if we destroyed them. Then that arse fell off the ship.”

"I was pushed!” Skanda looks wounded and puts a hand over his chest. “And all James did was laugh at me.”

Bearing a tray, Bond comes out with the wine and cheese. He’s cut up some fruit as well. He settles the tray on the table and leans over, kissing Q’s temple. “We are somewhat incorrigible in the field together. That was somewhat of a last minute mission. But we made it work and had fun doing it.”

As he hands out wine glasses, he toasts, “To successful missions and a healing quartermaster.”

Skanda smiles and raises his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Cheers.” Q sips and maybe it’s because he hasn’t had much alcohol since he was shot, but the wine bursts on his tastebuds and is surprisingly fruity and rich, and reminds him more of cherries than anything that would have come from a grape. “This is good,” he declares. “You two would call falling off a boat ‘fun’. That whole camera nonsense wouldn’t be a problem with our tech today. I’d hack it and put it on a loop.” 

Bond and Skanda exchange a look. Skanda moves, settling in on the other side of Q and leans forward a bit.

“Only loop the footage?” He grins. “Why Quartermaster. I thought you’d hack and _watch_.”

With a snort Bond pops a piece of cheese in his mouth. He looks over at Skanda. “Don’t make me shut you up.”

Skanda takes on an innocent look. “You usually shut me up one of two ways. I’m not entirely sure your Q would approve.”

Q squeaks with indignation. “I wouldn’t! The agents have to be able to trust us. We don’t go peering in on their trysts unless we need to leave a line open- and then they know we’re there. Believe it or not, we actually have some sense of right and wrong. Yes, even when it’s James out there. _Besides_ , I don’t really need to listen to him fuck another rich wife of some arsehole.” 

Skanda holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Q- forgive me. I didn’t mean in general. I meant in that particular situation. Where it was James and I.”

Bond reaches up and tenderly strokes a hand through Q’s hair. “I ah- think you missed Skanda’s meaning entirely, darling.” He smiles. “We were bugged and supposedly on our honeymoon.”

He clears his throat and nuzzles Q’s temple, voice softening. “I’ll always come home to you.”

A shadow flickers across Q’s face. _Until you don’t_. It’s not fear of another lover that keeps him on the comms for long hours. He leans into Bond’s attention instead, lets the dark mood pass. It’s been a hard month and he knows he’s been out of sorts. He’d slept with the lights on and his Beretta under his pillow for two nights when he came back from hospital. He’d even considered taking psych up on their standard offer of post mission therapy. He thinks he’s moving in the right direction now, though, every part of him taking it’s time to mend.

“We’ve talked about that. I don’t mind, so much,” Q tells him. “I meant that if you didn’t want to play lovers _that_ convincingly I could have found a way around it. If you did…” Q wasn’t sure when Skanda and Bond had started messing around, and didn’t want to pry. Well, he did, but not that much. “If you were all for a week of, well, a nontechnical solution… You were on a mission. If I was your handler, I certainly would have been professional about snooping in.” 

Bond draws Q close and kisses his brow, his voice soft. “We’re sorry. We-” He takes a breath. “It wasn’t meant to be an insult or an insinuation that you aren’t professional.”

He glances up to Skanda. “I don’t think we minded, so much. Did we?”

Skanda laughs softly. “No, not as such. You are a very lucky man, Q.” He looks as though he’s trying to make a decision. His voice softens. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Q. Afraid I get a bit- well, stupid sometimes.”

Q curls close to Bond and peeks up at Skanda. “No, I’m sorry. I can take the joking. I’ve just been…” Q shrugs. “On edge. All this sitting around and limited work duty.”

“Everyone knows you’re the smartest double-oh, Skanda.” Q hides a sly grin for him, nestled into Bond’s shoulder. “The rest of them are big apes that can’t bring their kit back.”

It was Bond’s turn to make an indignant noise. “I feed a gun to _one_ giant lizard…”

Skanda snorts. “Yes, because that’s all you’ve ever destroyed. I’m good at behaving.”

“You are not.” Bond mutters. “You go off mission more than I do!”

Skanda hums. “It’s all your fault. You’re a bad influence.”

“I am not.” Bond nips at Q’s ear. “Tell him I’m your favorite.”

Q squawks at the nip. “Favorite _what_? Be specific, Double oh-Seven.” Q is all smiles now and wriggles playfully in Bond’s arms. “Have you wondered why the Quartermaster is your handler, while the other agents get excellent members of my staff? Let me give you a hint, you were assigned to me before I saw those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

Bond huffs as though he’s been grievously insulted. He looks down at Q, “Yes, but now I’m your favorite everything. You’re practically in _my_ lap.”

Skanda practically purrs his words. “You can always sit in my lap instead.”

Cutting his eyes to Skanda, Bond arches a brow. “Who?”

With a shrug Skanda grins. “Either.”

Bond grumbles about incorrigible flirts and nuzzles against Q’s head. “Why am I the one being ganged up on?”

“Sorry, darling. We’ll slow down so you can keep up.” Q kisses the side of Bond’s mouth to ease the offense. “He knows you’re my favorite.” 

Q makes a little space between him and Bond on the sofa, though, after the lap comment. He reaches for his glass of wine again. While they’re home and not at the office, he supposes it’s not polite company to make someone feel like a third wheel. Especially if Skanda was Bond’s… ex?

Skanda grins at the both of them. “You two are adorable. Really.” 

Bond rolls his eyes and reaches out, taking a piece of fruit and promptly shoving it in Skanda’s mouth. “Shut it, you.”

Q laughs. “Bond! Well now I know one of the ways he kept you quiet!”

Skanda grins, a wicked glint in his eyes as he swallows. “Oh, no… Normally it was much more something like this.”

Bond could dodge, Skanda telegraphs his intent well enough even Q can see what’s coming. The two of them are going to kiss right in front of his face and there are about five hundred ways Q’s brain threatens to short out on him before the two have even started.

Q can see the corner of Bond’s mouth twitch up in a grin when their lips meet. One of Bond’s hands slips into the hair at the back of Skanda’s head while his other wraps around Q’s thigh. 

The kiss isn’t gentle, there’s a bit of pent up frustration on both sides poured into it, but it’s obvious it’s not a first kiss and there’s no small amount of care in it.

It’s not the way Bond kisses Q when he means ‘I love you’. But Q can tell it’s the same kind of kiss he gives when he means ‘You are my family’.

Skanda pulls back slightly and Bond actually looks a little dumbstruck, his thumb tracing small circles on Q’s thigh.

For a moment, Q’s caught up in the contrast of their skin. Bond’s well tanned skin pales against Skanda’s. A warm, light brown tone that Q finds himself itching to touch. Q clears his throat. “Um, was _that_ my welcome back and get well present?” Despite his want to touch Skanda, Q’s hand drifts over the top of Bond’s and settles there.

Both of them turn to Q. There’s something almost predatory in the gazes. Brown and blue trained on him.

Skanda tilts his head, glancing to Bond, a silent conversation in a few looks. When he focuses on Q again, Skanda’s gaze softens a touch, not quite looking like he’ll devour Q at any moment. 

“Oh, I’m sure we could do better than that.”

Q can feel Bond taking in all his little movements and twitches, reading him, getting a fix on how far he wants this to go, how much he wants any of this. He knows, without looking, Skanda’s doing the same. 

Q’s brain helpfully grinds it’s gears. What happens now? Does someone make tea and they chat about rules and limits and such? Should he send Skanda home so he and Bond can talk about it? Is this casual fun? Is this a triad newly blooming? Do he and Bond have condoms? God, does he even _want_ to do anything that necessitates…

Q closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He feels like a small fish being circled by two sharks. When handling double-ohs, that simply won’t do.

When Q opens his eyes again, he takes off his glasses, folds them neatly and sets them in the center of that table. When he looks up, his pupils are dark and blotting out much of the green.  
“You both seem quite sure of yourselves. If it’s my present, why am I just watching? I mean, I _like_ watching, but in this case…” Q reaches over and slides a hand over Bond’s jaw and pulls him close. “…it doesn’t seem very fitting.”

Q kisses Bond, deeply, tasting the sweetness of the wine and the subtle flavor of something else, someone else. His hand reaches around to cling to Bond’s collar, something to hold onto because he’s quite sure if he doesn’t, he’s going to drown in this. 

Bond’s arm slides around Q’s waist, pulling him back in close. He shifts them until Q is in his lap, kissing again, chasing the taste of the wine in his mouth. His teeth drag over Q’s lower lip lightly as he pulls away.

He reaches up, tenderly brushing hair from Q’s face. “Bloody gorgeous you are.” Bond looks over to Skanda.

Skanda licks over his lower lip. “It is your present. Whatever you want, Q.” 

When he leans in, the kiss is chaste, gentle. A brush of lips. His voice is low in Q’s ear as he pulls back enough to speak against it. “For what it’s worth, I’m very glad you’re back and healing.”

“Thank you,” Q whispers back.

Q looks between Bond and Skanda. He still has his fingers curled tight in Bond’s shirt as he feels his composure slipping away. “Honestly, I don’t know exactly what I want, but we can find out.” He says a little breathlessly. He reaches out to Skanda in invitation.

Skanda takes Q’s hand and settles in closer to Bond and Q. He leans in and nuzzles along Q’s jaw. “I won’t be offended if you boot me out of the flat. I won’t be offended if we go back to drinking wine and talking about whatever comes to mind.” With a soft kiss to Q’s cheek, he leans back and smiles at Q.

“This is your show.”

Q watches them both, chewing on his lower lip for a minute. “My presents. My show.” There’s a mischievous little gleam in his eye; the one he gets when his brain stops shorting out and actually fixates on a path.

It doesn’t matter what this is, Q realizes. If it’s the start of something more than, well whatever it currently is, he’s well versed in Skanda’s general personality and has guided him on just enough missions to know he genuinely likes him. Whatever this is, whatever it has the ability to become- Q’s at peace with it. It means more general worry but he finds that he’s okay with that too.

Q leans in and kisses Skanda from Bond’s lap, his hands sliding into the dark curls, appreciating the length in his hands. It’s a different feel from Bond’s cropped locks. 

Skanda’s hand slips under the edge of Q’s shirt, teasing the skin just above his pajamas. He wraps his hand around Q’s hip and his grip tightens as Q nips his lip, drawing a sharp sound from Skanda. He mouths along Q’s jaw to drag his teeth against Q’s neck.

Q can see Bond watching them before his eyes flutter closed and he trembles against Bond’s body. 

“Skanda-” The name is a whine on Q’s lips, a plea for more.

Bond sinks a hand into Q’s hair, tipping it to the side with a gentle tug, baring Q’s throat for Skanda. Q whines and curls his fingers in Bond’s shirt when Skanda bites down. A shudder runs through Q and his hips rock, making Bond give an answering roll of his own.

Q’s been so much in his own head since the mission and he just wants to shut down. Wants out of his head. He groans at the tug Bond gives to his hair. There’s just enough pressure to ground him without pain.

Skanda works Q’s neck, mouthing down to suck up a mark above the tee he’s wearing, but carefully below the shirts he normally favors. Q gives a small cry, a shudder running through him again.

Bond is gentle when he pulls the tee over Q’s head, tossing it aside. The air hitting so much exposed flesh sends a shiver through Q and he looks at Bond. The answering smile makes Q lean in and kiss him slowly. He can feel Skanda’s hand in his hair as Bond’s hands run over his back. 

The hands on him are gentle. Caresses intended to soothe him but they only manage to set his nerves on edge and he shakes his head.

“Please- I need… I need-” Q huffs, trying to articulate the stream of scenarios racing through his head.

Pulling away slightly, Skanda’s voice is soft, “What do you need, Q? Tell us.”

Bond tenderly strokes Q’s hair. “Breathe, Q.”

“Out of my head. I need out of my head. Take me down deep.” Q looks up at Bond, leaning into the touches, pushing up like a cat. “Please?”

“Bondage?” Bond asks, continuing to stroke.

Q shakes his head. “No just- I want to-” He pauses, trying to find the words. “I want to please, to-” A small noise escapes him and Bond captures it with a kiss.

“We’ve got you, Q. I understand.” Bond murmurs. He doesn’t let Q go as he stands, only shifts him so he can carry him more easily to the bedroom. “Water in the cupboard, Skanda, bring several bottles so we don’t have to move later. And grab his glasses, please.”

Skanda slips to the kitchen, and Q realizes as they reach the bedroom, it’s to give the two of them time to talk.

Bond lets Q down, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “Are you alright with this?”

Q sucks in a breath. “I don’t know what this _is_. But-” he fumbles for the words to explain. “It occurred to me that it doesn’t matter what this is. I love you.” He bites his lip at that, worrying at the trapped flesh for a moment.

“I love you and I like Skanda. You two-” He waves a hand, seemingly frustrated for a moment. “You work together. I don’t mean at work. I mean the way you communicate silently it’s-” He hums. “Well, it’s actually sort of breathtaking.”

Bond sits beside Q’s him and smiles, running his hand down Q’s side. “I love you. Skanda is- he’s family. I will be with you each step of the way and Skanda will accept however little or much you wish to give.”

Q hums at that and reaches up, tugging Bond down for a kiss. It’s slow, gentle. A calm before whatever storm this is going to be. When they part, Bond gently tugs Q’s pajama bottoms from him, leaving him only in his pants.

His hand slides up Q’s leg until he palms Q though his pants. Q lets out a soft huff of breath, arching beneath the touch.

“That’s it, Q,” Bond practically croons. His voice is louder when he calls out, “Don’t take all night Skanda.”

Skanda’s grinning as he makes his way into the bedroom. Q groans as he watches Skanda leave the water and a few snacks on the dresser. Bond’s hand on him makes him rut up, seeking more friction.

He can see Skanda observing him now that the damage from the shotgun is visible. Overall it wasn’t awful. It had just bled like mad. Q shifts under the gaze, knowing there are little marks and several surgical cuts where they’d had to go after pellets.

But Skanda is smiling at him, slipping out of his own button up and Q can see the scars Skanda has as well. His fingers itch to trace and kiss them all just as he does Bond’s.

Bond huffs when Skanda slides his trousers off and flips them to a chair. 

“Still wearing those ridiculously tiny briefs.”

Q makes no effort to hide his fascination with Skanda being revealed and when Skanda crawls onto the bed with him, Q reaches for him. The kiss is gentle and Q lets out a little sigh. He feels less frantic now, relaxed in the knowledge that whatever is going on, everyone is on board with it. And should any one of them become uncomfortable, it will stop with no hard feelings from anyone.

He gives a small giggle at the thought that crosses his mind. There might be _some_ hard feelings if everything was brought to a halt. It’s just a flash in his mind, but he chastises himself for giggling like a twelve-year-old.

Bond rolls his eyes as Skanda looks puzzled. As he strips out of his shirt and trousers, Bond shakes his head. “No telling what went through that brain of his.”

Skanda chuckles and nuzzles along Q’s jaw. “Gorgeous boy. Look at how eager he is.” Q’s groan and buck of his hips makes Skanda grin up at Bond. “Oh… He likes that doesn’t he?”

He reaches up, tenderly stroking Q’s hair. “You’re going to be a good boy for us, aren’t you?”

Q whimpers, trying to draw Skanda back in for another kiss as Bond slides into bed on the other side of him. “Shh, Q. It’s alright.”

With a small huff, Q lets his head thump back against the pillow, drawing chuckles from Bond and Skanda. With a look at one another, they each grab a side of Q’s pants and ease them down over his hips and off his legs, tossing them on the floor making Q give a little squawk of protest.

Bond mouths along Q’s neck as Skanda’s hand skims down the flat of his stomach before wrapping around his cock, making Q arch. 

“Oh fuck.” Q sucks in a breath and turns his head, seeking out Bond’s mouth. The kiss is more nipping than anything else and it has Q groaning.

Q can hear Skanda in the bedside drawer and then a chuckle coupled with, “Bloody _Hitchhiker’s Guide_. I know whose side this is. Only one person in the world would keep a gun, spare clip, lube and condoms in the drawer with that book. What- is this the Portuguese copy I brought back for you? Can you even read Portuguese anymore?” Bond’s only response is a snort and wink to Q.

The sound of foil packets hitting the bedside table makes Q look up, away from Bond. He watches as Skanda moves between his legs and nudges his knees up. Q feels exposed and it sends a shiver through him, his cock twitching against his stomach with it.

Skanda takes his time, running his hands over Q’s legs. Q can tell he’s memorizing every erogenous zone he has. Watching him and coming back to places that make Q’s hips rock up.

It seems like an eternity of Bond’s and Skanda’s hands on him. Bond working over his nipples, tugging them until he’s whimpering and biting his lip.

When Bond’s hand wraps around his cock, Q makes a strangled noise, his hands going over his head to grip the headboard. “Fuck, James.”

Skanda grabs a pillow, adjusting Q before stretching out between his legs and pressing his face against him. 

“Jesus.” Q moans as Skanda’s tongue runs up the inside of his thigh before teasing across under his balls. 

Q’s fingers tighten on the headboard when he feels Skanda’s tongue licking and pushing against him. The whine that escapes him draws a chuckle from Bond and Q drags him down for a kiss.

Skanda adjusts him, opening his legs further for better access and Q groans against Bond’s mouth as Skanda’s tongue works him open. The teasing way Skanda’s tongue moves against him is the sweetest torture.

Bond’s voice is a low growl in his ear and Q groans at the words. “He’s good at it. I know.” 

A gasp escapes Q and he arches again. As Bond describes how he knows Skanda can make someone feel, Q curls his fingers in the short hairs at Bond’s neck. Skanda’s tongue is hot, wet. The shift between delicate flicks and firm pressure makes him shiver. “Please.” Q’s voice is rough, a tremor running through the word.

He cant help but press against Bond, seeking him out as Skanda continues, feels him spread him further open and Q licks over Bond’s skin, tasting him, subconsciously mimicking the movements of Skanda’s tongue against the skin of Bond’s neck and jaw. He’s desperate for something to ground him. 

Each movement, each drag of his skin against the bed as he shifts is heightened. For an absurd moment all he can do is think that he’s glad Bond goes for decadence in his thread count because he’s sure anything rougher would be too much for how sensitive his skin has grown from this.

Q feels Skanda shift away and hears the pop of the cap on the lube before he feels a finger pressing into him slowly. Q can’t help but rock his hips down as Skanda slides a finger into him. His head nearly smacks into Bond’s as he looks up to watch Skanda rubbing his face against his inner thigh. 

Bond’s mouth is on his neck and he gasps as he feels teeth before Bond slides a hand up, gathering both his wrists and pinning them over his head. It isn’t anything he couldn’t slip right out of, but it makes him feel grounded, controlled, protected.

He meets Bond’s eyes as Bond checks on him and he lets his eyes drop closed as Bond’s lips find his ear, whispering against it. “You’re going to be so good for us, aren’t you? 

Q’s head tips back and his voice is shaky, feeling Skanda starting to work him open. “Yes, sir. James-”

Bond’s lips meet his and capture the words, kissing Q until he’s short of breath, little pleas whispered against Bond as Skanda works a second finger into him. There’s a strong hand on each of his thighs and he knows without looking, one is Bond’s and one is Skanda’s. He looks up at Bond and for a moment concern flits across his face at how Bond is spread over him and Bond smiles, breaking from the darker characterization he’d been using for a moment. 

His hand comes down from Q’s wrists and he brushes a curl away from Q’s forehead. “I’m fine, the shoulder isn’t bothering me.”

Q gasps, arching as Skanda curls his fingers at the same time he licks from the base of Q’s cock, all the way up.

“You’re thinking too much, beautiful boy. We’ll take care of us and you too.” Skanda nips at the inside of Q’s thigh as Bond’s hands close back over his wrists.

Bond’s voice is rough against his ear once more, “Let go. We have you.” His hands tighten briefly on Q’s. “You belong right here, right now, to us, with us. Let go.”

Q rubs his face against Bond’s moaning his acquiescence. Bond smiles against him. “Good boy. Look at you, all stretched out for us, behaving so beautifully.” He squeezes Q’s thigh. “He’s got clever fingers, doesn’t he? Knows just how to move, to touch, to wring pleasure.”

With a small cry, Q arches as Skanda rubs against his prostate. The pressure is just shy of painful, making him ride that edge. Making his breath come in sharp, pleading pants. 

There’s a chuckle in Skanda’s voice as he speaks against Q’s leg, rubbing the rough scruff against Q’s tender inner thigh. “Oh but you’re beautiful like this Q. You belong like this don’t you?”

Q groans as his hips buck up and Bond’s voice is a growl, “Be still or I’ll tie you to this bed and make you watch us.” 

A shudder runs through him at the words and Bond keeps going. “I want him trembling, Skanda. I want him pleading for relief before you fuck him.” The k is sharp in Q’s ear at the end of fuck and Bond’s tone makes him try to tuck his face against Bond.

“Ah- watch him, Q. Eyes open. I want you to watch while he breaks you to pieces.”

Q’s eyes settle on Skanda as Skanda grins up at him, finally adding a third finger. Whimpering Q rocks down against Skanda as best he can. Bond chuckles in his ear.

“That’s it. Show us, Q. Show us how you want it.”

“Fuck.” Q rolls his hips, trying to get more, to plead with his body. Skanda’s dark chuckle makes a shiver run through him.

It’s close to torture, the slow slide of Skanda’s fingers inside him, the way Skanda curls his fingers just right. Like now that he’s found the way to press Q’s buttons he’s never going to stop. Q’s fingers wrapped around Bond’s hand and he twists, trying to get to Bond. “Please. James- Sir.”

Bond growls, nipping at his lip before kissing him. It’s slow, controlled-Bond’s tongue teasing his as he runs a hand up Q’s chest to pinch his nipple. Q’s fingers tighten on Bond’s hand as he squirms, no longer able to hold still. A sharp nip to his jaw and a rougher tug to his nipple are his rewards.

Q whimpers, rocking down on Skanda’s fingers before whining at the loss of them. Skanda’s fingernails trail just shy of painfully over his inner thigh. 

“Hands and knees for me, Q.” The command comes with a small slap to his inner thigh that makes him moan, back arching for a moment. Bond releases his hands, allowing him to twist up, arse in the air as he rubs his face against the duvet with a little whine.

When the bed dips again he hears the sound of the condom wrapper and the pop of the cap on the lube. He tips his face to the side to look up at Bond who smiles at him and brushes his hair back from his eyes.

“My beautiful boy.” The words are almost whispered and Q sucks in a breath, pressing into the touch.

Skanda’s hands are gentle on him and he feels the lube as Skanda makes sure they have enough. As Skanda starts to press against him, Q tries to bury his face against Bond. Fingers tangle in his hair and Bond’s voice is a low rumble. “I want to see your face.”

Q bites his lip as he looks up at Bond, trying to focus on his face before giving in and letting his eyes shut as Skanda takes his time. It seems like it’s forever that Skanda’s sinking into him. “Christ, Skanda, please.” It’s torture, really, the way Skanda’s taking his time. “I- please. Fuck.” As Skanda’s hips settle flush against him, Q pants against Bond, face buried against him for the moment.

Bond slides his fingers through Q’s hair, stroking his head. “That’s it. That’s it gorgeous boy. Look at you.” 

Pressing into the touches, Q gasps as Skanda gives an experimental roll of his hips. A few slow thrusts later and Skanda is urging him up, pulling him back against his chest so that they’re both kneeling on the bed with Q in Skanda’s lap.

Q groans as Skanda wraps an arm around his waist and rocks his hips up. Skanda’s free hand slides across his chest, pinching and tugging at a nipple, lips against his ear. He’s distracted from everything else, misses Bond sliding off the bed for a moment.

“Watch him,” Skanda instructs as Bond climbs back onto the bed completely naked. “Look at him. What you’ve done to him.”

Bond’s leaning against the headboard, his hand sliding down to palm his cock as he gazes past Q, sending a shudder down Q’s spine as he wonders just what the two of them are exchanging with that intense look. The wicked smirk that crosses Bond’s lips makes Q groan in anticipation.

Skanda starts moving, using the arm on Q’s waist as leverage, fucking up into in him as Q’s hand moves to touch himself. Q whines when Bond shakes his head, his own hand starting to stroke in time with Skanda’s thrusts.

“Oh no, you get to wait. Hold on for me, Q.” Bond’s hand twists in the way Q loves to do to him, drawing a gasp from both of them.

When Skanda’s free hand settles on Q’s throat, his thumb brushing Q’s pulse, Q rocks down almost harshly. “Fuck!” He manages.

Skanda nips at his ear. “I’m going to keep fucking you just like this until you’re trembling. He’s going to keep touching himself while I take you apart, piece by piece.” He pays no attention to Q’s whine as he keeps speaking, hand tightening on Q’s throat, just enough to put pressure without cutting off Q’s ability to breathe.

“Look at how much he wants you. The way he’s breathing. Look at the hitch in his hand as he slows down for a moment because he doesn’t want this to be over too soon. Wants to drag it out.” Skanda punctuates the words with thrusts, making Q arch, his hands flying up to grip the strong arm at his throat.

“Please!” Q gasps as he clings to Skanda. “I need- oh God, please let me.”

Skanda chuckles. “Let you what? Lick him? Suck him? Beg for his cock?” He nips sharply at Q’s ear, drawing a keening noise from him.

Q shudders on Skanda, trying to move faster, to control the pace and Skanda’s arm tightens on his waist. “No.”

“Please.” Q’s voice trembles. “God, please. James, Skanda-” there’s a plea to his voice. “I need it. Please James.” His tongue darts out, soothing bitten lips. “Please let me.”

Bond slowly strokes himself for a few more thrusts and then winks to Skanda before crooking his finger at the both of them. Skanda is gentle as he presses Q forward, releasing him and letting Q go back to his hands and knees. 

WIth a moan, Q licks up Bond’s cock before sucking down over him. He runs his tongue against Bond as he feels fingers slide into his hair.

“That’s it, gorgeous boy. Look at you.” The grip in his hair tightens as Bond groans the words.

Q licks and sucks, moaning against Bond as Skanda tortures him with dragging, slow thrusts. He can almost feel them communicating with those silent little reads of body language over his head. 

“Fuck, Q.” Bond’s hands tangle in his hair as Bond adjusts so that it’s more him fucking Q’s mouth, than Q using his mouth on Bond.

It takes them a minute, but soon Bond and Skanda have a rhythm going that threatens to drop Q hard. Only the grip on his hips and in his hair keep him grounded enough for the moment. He moans around Bond’s cock, pleading with every breath. This is what he’d craved. This is what he’d needed that he couldn’t put to words. 

Skanda speeds his thrusts and Bond pulls away with a groan, fist sliding over his cock in front of Q’s face. Q’s tongue darts out, licking when he can, gasping as Skanda grips his hips hard. Skanda’s fucking Q in earnest, obviously chasing his own pleasure.

Q moans, keeping his mouth mostly open, wetting his tongue now and again to lick and occasionally catching Bond’s cock to suck for a moment. Bond watches them as he works his cock. 

He can taste Bond getting close, can feel the way Skanda’s hips hitch. Bond’s voice is that low growl that makes him weak kneed. The pitch and tone that’s made him grip the edge of his desk during missions.

“Fuck, look at you.” He reaches out, hooking his thumb in Q’s mouth, keeping it open as though Q hasn’t been on his own. “Gorgeous like this. Open, pliant, willing. Should keep you like this. Truss you up here at home, invite Skanda over whenever he needs a break.” Bond breaks off, swearing, breath hitching.

Q groans, trying to suck Bond’s thumb. He hears Skanda swear behind him, hips stuttering before he’s burying himself fully in Q and holding tight. He can feel Skanda’s head resting between his shoulderblades as he pants, little kisses and praises peppered over the skin there.

Skanda’s voice is a near purr against his ear. “Make him come, Q. Draw it out of him like you want. Beautiful little thing. Can’t you taste him already? Want him to mark you, claim you? I remember what he tastes like. Going to be a good boy and share?” He feels Skanda’s hand in his hair, tipping his head slightly.

He looks up at Bond, groaning as he opens his mouth again, tongue out, pleading with all that he has. Bond swears as his grip on Q’s face tightens, rhythm faltering. A few more slides of his fist and Bond is coming across Q’s face before pressing his cock against Q’s lips.

“Don’t you dare swallow.” Skanda’s voice is rough as he finally eases out of Q and off the bed, drawing a deep whine from him around Bond’s cock. 

Bond’s panting and Q is painfully hard and tries to rut against the bed, earning him a pinch from Bond. “Ah- wait, darling. You’ll get yours. Patience.” Bond lets go of his face and eases himself back against the headboard as Skanda slides back onto the bed beside Q. His tongue slides over Q’s face, licking away a stripe before he’s kissing Q. 

Q groans as Skanda’s tongue slides into his mouth and for a moment he’s afraid he’s just going to come from the kiss alone as they share Bond’s come. He can feel Bond’s hand stroking his hair as he and Skanda kiss until he’s on his side, trying to rock his hips against Skanda.

Skanda chuckles as he pulls away and urges Q to his back before winking to Bond. There’s a slight tilt to his head and Q watches them as they crawl down the bed in tandem, each taking a side and kissing up his thighs. He hears, rather than sees the lube and then Bond’s fingers are in him, drawing a low, gasping moan from him.

His vision threatens to go as two pairs of lips work over his cock, meeting at the head. And, _JesusFuckChrist_ , they’re kissing around his cock. As Bond’s fingers curl up, pressing against his prostate, Q makes a broken sound, Skanda’s finger sliding in along Bond’s two.

Q is vaguely aware that he’s babbling, pleading with them and for a moment he’s not sure which of the five languages he is fluent in it is he’s begging in. He sinks a hand into his hair, tugging, arching as Bond and Skanda suck and lick around him.

But it takes a sharp, growling command from Bond before he’s finally able to let go. They work him in tandem as his orgasm hits, nearly painful in how forceful it is. He can feel them licking and sharing as his eyes shut and he rides it out. 

There are soft little pants escaping him and he can’t help but reach for them, tears pricking the back of his eyes. Gently fingers slide out of him and Skanda disappears from the bed as Bond climbs back up next to him, gathering in his arms and kissing his forehead. He curls in against Bond, tucking his head under Bond’s chin.

The bed dips and soon there’s a warm, damp cloth cleaning him. Bond tips him back long enough for Skanda to clean his face and then he’s surrounded by them, pressed between them, safer than he’s felt since before the mission.

He can’t think too hard at the moment about what this might mean. Skanda’s hand is on his hip and both Bond and Skanda’s faces are pressed into his hair. Q has a feeling their foreheads are touching. After a moment he feels Bond’s hand lace with Skanda’s over his hip and Q lets himself drift in the comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more of this universe at Owls' tumblr here [littleowls3.tumblr.com/rp](http://littleowls3.tumblr.com/rp)
> 
> Complete with gifs and silliness on both our parts!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Sing and Fly Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173621) by [beaubete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete)




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